Halt: Legend in the Making
by Author of Scifi
Summary: A story speculating on the life of Halt before he became the legend we all know and love.
1. Chapter 1: Ranger

Chapter 1

"Hey boys, there's the runt!"

Halo groaned inwardly as he saw the neighborhood heavies striding toward him. Why couldn't these idiots understand that short people weren't any different from tall people? Except for, of course, the short/tall part. That they didn't deserve to be harassed anymore than they did?

He considered running, but his deliberations took too long. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded by a pack of heavies.

"Hey runt, what are you doin', walkin' on meh street?" He had a dirty face and numerous scars on his bare arms, chest and face. His pants were raggedy and were held up with a goat hair belt. He smelled like a goat too. He had a heavy country drawl and it was obvious his education had been neglected.

"Your street, good sir? Why, I thought this was a public street." Halt attempted to be cordial.

"Ye, this is _meh _street, and no runt ain't gonna walk on it."

"So I have permission to walk on it then?" Halt noted the use of the boy's double negative.

"No! What're ya, dumb as a rock?"

"No, _I _certainly am not."

"I dun know 'bout that, runt." The heavy's cohorts chuckled. They obviously had a terrible sense of humor.

"I personally don't care if you know or not, because I know, and the fact that I know should be enough to convince me that I'm not as dumb as rock," Halt stated.

"Say _wha_?"

"Look, I don't understand you and you as hellfire sure don't understand me, so why don't you just let me go?" Halt hoped that this slightly weak logical explanation would be enough to get his rear end out of trouble.

Of course, the heavy's next words squelched those ambitions. "Na! We ain't gonna let you go, runt! Why'ould we do that?"

"I might not taste so good...?" Halt muttered.

"Eh? What does that have to do wid it, runt?"

"Don't you have any sense of humor whatsoever?" Halt tried to throw his weight around a little. He'd learned from his experiences that if you acted like you could throw your weight around, how ever slight that weight might be, people would believe you actually could.

"I got me a sense of humor! An' runt, we'll get ya for sayin' I don't got no sense of humor!"

"I never said such a thing!"

"Ye, you did too!"

"Then what are we arguing about?" Halt loved having fun with people who often used double negatives.

"Whateva! Get 'im boys!" The heavy strode up to Halt and threw a sloppy uppercut at him. Halt leapt back and whirled on his heel. Then he brought up his foot and kicked the nearest human being. When his foot connected with something soft, he set down the kicking foot and brought his other foot around a little higher.

Halt heard a satisfying grunt as the heavy went down underneath his double kick. He leapt over his fallen opponent and raced toward the town square.

"Cm'here, runt!"

"Not a chance..." he murmured as he skid through the town square, which was empty since it was quite late at night. He tripped over some chickens, who then squawked unpleasantly and made quite a ruckus, jumped onto a crate, and leapt through the air toward the edge of a roof. In mid-air he realized that he might not be able to hold on to the ledge when he reached it, but he cast that thought away. He was in mid-air now, and if he fell he would fall into a pit of angry crocodiles.

His hands grabbed the edge of the roof. He pulled himself up using his strong, wiry arms and swung his legs up onto the roof. He looked down at the angry mob. They were all jumping up and trying to get at him. Halt laughed audibly and settled back onto the warm roof tiles. One of the heavies, one with no front teeth and a huge scar on his cheek, attempted to duplicate Halt's move. One hand latched onto the edge of the roof, and the other tried to reach up and grab onto the edge as well. Well, Halt liked being alone on the roof, so he stomped on the guy's hand and sent him crashing back down to earth. All the while he said nothing, but the sneer on his face said it all.

Suddenly all of the boys went quiet. Some shuffled their feet, others became fascinated with the floor. They couldn't stop looking at it. The leader and one other heavy, however, stood defiantly straight.

Halt was confused. What had caused the sudden change in mood? Then he saw it: or rather, _him_.

It was a Ranger. He had been sitting on a bench near the local tavern and had been calmly watching the display. Now, however, he had stood up and had started slowly moving toward the heavies.

"C'mon boys, it's one Ranger! Lez beat 'im up!" Obviously the leader knew nothing about Rangers.

The other boys, inspired by their leader's confidence, walked up behind him and glared at the Ranger.

_Come on boys, don't do this. _The Ranger, Crowley, thought to himself. He really didn't want to have to hurt these boys. He knew what drove their kind. They weren't exactly intellectual giants and were probably often picked on by people smarter than them: so they'd improvise. They'd become bullies, heavies, brutal barbarians so they can hold their own in the world. In the end though, they end up broken in the most run down parts of society. It was pathetic.

Crowley was a master at not showing his emotions though. He kept his eyes grim, his mouth in a straight, rigid line.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he said in an even but deadly tone. When he drew his longbow and knocked an arrow, Halt fully expected the group to run away. Instead they laughed. They _laughed_.

"That lil' ol' bow don't scare us. Tat's a hunter's weapon. Lez see ya hit one of us wid dat thing! Lemme show ya a real weapon!" He drew a dagger from the sheath at his hip. A detail that Halt hadn't noticed before. It was beautiful, ornately crafted: but it wasn't fit for poking rats. From Halt's viewpoint, he could see the blade was thin, and wasn't made for fighting.

"Where did you get that?" asked the Ranger.

"I stold it! Whatya gonna do 'bout it, _Ranger_?"

Crowley sighed and put down his longbow. He didn't want to hurt the kid. "Tell you what," said Crowley, "fight me one on one. You get your dagger, I'll fight with my hands. If you can get me to yield, I'll let you keep the dagger and I'll leave you alone. If _I _win, however, you give me the dagger and I report you and your cohorts to the authorities. If you refuse to duel me, then I'll just shoot you all full of arrows and save me a whole lot of trouble."

"Bet you can't shoot nothin' with dat bow, 'specially in da dark!!"

"Really?" asked Crowley calmly. He picked up his longbow and looked for a suitable target. In a town square, there were plenty of targets, just not a whole lot of suitable ones. His eyes were conditioned to see shades of things and to use those shades to see objects. He saw that right behind the lead bully's shoulder there was a small crate containing chicken entrails. That crate was on another tall crater, and the small crate was just above the leader's shoulder. That would be a suitable target.

Crowley knocked his arrow and fired it in less time than it would take a normal person to take a breath. The arrow hit the crate with a satisfying thump, sending chicken parts flying. The head of one of the chickens hit the leader in the back of the head. He whirled around and goggled at the arrow.

"Now, that crate is just slightly smaller than your head. I would have no problems whatsoever putting an arrow through your head right now."

"A'ight," gulped the leader, "I'll fight ya."

"Good. By the way," the leader started, "what's your name?"

"M-M-Michael."

"Very well." Crowley set his longbow down and walked toward Michael. Michael had gotten over most of his jitters and started creeping toward Crowley.

Halt was afraid for Crowley: for about 5 seconds. In less time that Halt had ever thought possible, Crowley leapt toward Michael, ducked under a sloppy thrust from the dagger, grabbed Michael's arm, twisted it behind his back, disarmed Michael, and then pinned Michael to the ground by putting his knee in the back of his back, twisting his arm with one hand, pinning the other arm down with the other hand, and his other leg providing leverage. Michael struggled for about fifteen minutes. _Fifteen minutes!_ Imagine being pinned to the dirty earthen floor for fifteen minutes, your arm twisted painfully behind you, a knee digging into your back. Finally Michael gasped, "Yield!"

Halt, Michael, and Crowley had been so enraptured by the battle that they hadn't noticed that Michael's cohorts had left. When Michael saw he muttered, "Those yellow bellied lily livered...." Crowley just nodded and Halt wasn't surprised. "Come on, you're heading to the authorities." Halt and Crowley could see that Michael was too tired to argue.

Once they were gone, Halt climbed from his perch and ran home.


	2. Chapter 2: Hard Truths

Chapter 2

"Halt? Halt?"

"Yes mother?" Halt hoped that nothing was wrong with the food he had made. Last time he messed up a meal he had to endure a terrible whipping... all right, fine, he had to admit it wasn't the food but when he had argued with his mom and had thrown some of the food in her face that had merited the whipping. That was when he was a young thirteen though! He was fifteen now!

"Oh, oh my, sir, wha... wha... what? I mean what is...? I mean..."

"Ma'am, don't worry. I'm not here to harm you. But I need to see your son."

"My son? What did he do? Oh Ranger, he didn't..."

"Ma'am, no, he didn't do anything wrong. But I need to see him."

"Of... of course Ranger. Halt? Halt?" Halt's mother, Alicia, was terrified of Rangers; like most people. And then this Ranger wanted her son? What would he do to him?!

She sighed. She shouldn't be so afraid of Rangers. After all, her husband had been saved by a Ranger.... even though he was gone now...

"Yes mom?" Young Halt walked into the main room. His bright gray eyes gleamed with vitality. His young teenage face had just started to grow a mustache. He had shaggy looking tan hair that hung in his face. He had strong, muscular, wiry arms and sturdy legs. However, he was short: about five feet.

When Halt noticed the Ranger, he didn't show any sort of outward signs of excitement or surprise. However, his mind was reeling. _Does this Ranger think I was with the mob? Did he see me kick that guy? Is he mad at me for using violence? Does he want to arrest me? Is he mad at me for jumping on the roof?_

Crowley was impressed when Halt walked in and didn't show any obvious signs of surprise. He did take a slight gasp when he walked in, and Crowley noticed a little bit of sweat on his brow. Crowley fully expected Halt to at least take a step back. Halt didn't. Crowley admired that.

"Halt. Hello. My name is Ranger Crowley." He reached out a hand toward Halt. Halt hesitated, then shook it. Crowley noticed the strong grip.

"Ranger Crowley, how did you know my name?"

"I'm a Ranger, Halt. I have my sources."

"I'm sorry sir."

"Don't worry about it."

Halt was surprised at the way this conversation was going. Crowley still hadn't taken off the hood to his menacing, camouflaged cloak, but yet he seemed friendly and almost inviting. It was like.... a long lost father had finally come home.

When he took off his cloak Halt was surprised that Crowley was relatively short. He wasn't beefy at all. He was only about six inches taller than Halt himself. Crowley's roughly cut brown hair resembled his own.

"Son, can I talk to your mom in private for a second?"

"Yes sir."

"I'll talk to you in a minute."

As Halt sat on his bed, twiddling his thumbs, wondering what on _earth _this Ranger could be telling his mom, Ranger Crowley told Alicia some very disturbing.... and exciting news.

"What? Ranger, are.... are.... are you.... _sure_? _My _Halt?!"

"Ma'am, yes, I am sure."

"But.... but... he's just... he's too..."

"He's too moral to even consider such an act? Ma'am believe me, it's not the punishment that it would seem to be."

"Well..... what..... Ranger, please..."

"It's not just today, ma'am. Your son, Halt, hasn't had any formal fighting training. He's a farmer. But yet, he is agile, clever, and gracefully brutal in a fight. He is lithe and has an amazing instinct for stealth. He is a graceful climber as well."

"You know all this from one day of watching him?"

"Ma'am, I don't mean to frighten you, but I've watching your son since he was twelve. Since then he has exhibited the qualities that I have mentioned. I've waited for a long time, and I've decided that today is the day we take him to the Baron."

"Oh, Ranger, Ranger, Ranger...."

"Let me talk to your son."

Halt started when Crowley melted into the room. Even without his cloak he was uncannily stealthy.

"Hello, Halt."

"Hello, Ranger."

"Halt," Crowley settled into a chair, "what do you know... or think you know... about Rangers? Whether you're sure of it or not, tell me."

"Well, they're peacekeepers throughout the kingdom. They make sure the infidels don't get to do much damage. They're said to practice black magic, since you can disappear so well. You're wonderful archers and unmatched fighters."

"Not quite unmatched, but go on."

"That's all I know, sir."

"Almost everything you said is true _except_ for the black magic bit. We can disappear because we know how to use stealth. Do you know what it takes to be a Ranger?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"Come on, Halt. Don't be so dogmatic. Use what you know about Rangers to figure out what an ideal Ranger would be."

"Well.... considering that they're peacekeepers, they would have to have a strong sense of loyalty to their kingdom and would have to have a strong sense of justice.

Since you need to be stealthy, the person would have to be nimble, lithe, and small.

And since you're archers, you'd have to have strong back and arm muscles."

"Have you ever ranged, Halt?"

"A little, why?"

"Because most people believe that ranging is all in the arms. Even hunters have sloppy forms, generally."

"Well.... I found that it's easier to use your back muscles than your arm muscles." Halt was surprised at how easily the words came from his lips. He was in the presence of a _Ranger_, a group of people that were almost as feared as the infidels that they dealt with. Yet Halt felt totally at ease, even though he could see where the conversation was going.

"And, since a Ranger would have to be a good fighter, he would have to have a generally strong body."

"Correct. Now.... doesn't it sound like you've just described yourself?"

Although Halt had seen this coming, he was still surprised when Crowley said this. "I.... no sir."

"Why? You're small, lithe, nimble. You have strong back and arm muscles from your farm work. I happen to know how hard it is to work a plow or a hoe. You are also strong from your farm work. And I assume you have a sense of loyalty and justice, and even mercy, since you didn't stay and punish that heavy about a year ago."

Halt blushed. That scene came rushing back to his mind.

"It's the squirrel!" One of he neighborhood bullies had decided about a year ago to pound Halt into the ground, mostly because his mother had just ranted at him about how me was _such _a failure and he was feeling particularly violent.

To make a long story short, one fourteen year old Halt plus one sixteen year old heavy equals a major beating for the heavy. Halt had scampered away from the heavy's sloppy, slow punches and had delivered glancing blows to his knees and ankles. When Halt decided to kick the back of the heavy's knees _hard_, the heavy went down with a large _pfffump_. Instead of staying and punishing the boy, Halt just ran away.

"Halt, you'd make a great Ranger."

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Oh... since you were about twelve."

"_Twelve_? How come I've never noticed you!"

"I never wanted to be noticed."

"Ranger... I... don't think I can do this."

"Think about it Halt. I'll be back in two weeks. If you decide to accept my offer, that will give you enough time to make final preparations to the farm. If you decide not to accept..." Crowley shook his head. "Then you'll be depriving your country a valuable resource."

"What about mother?"

"Don't worry: Baron Arald will be able to ensure your mother's safety and comfort."

With that, Crowley stood and walked out of the door to Halt's bedroom, said something to Halt's mom, put on his cloak, grabbed his longbow, and melted into the night.


End file.
